Infinite Numbers

God works in infinite numbers;
Man is bound by singletons.

I picture a solitary butterfly,
At most a few, hovering over a meadow.

The migration of the Monarchs
Delivers an uncountable number.
Destiny is never as simple as it seems.

The universe teems with life,
Constantly revising itself;
Any catalogue is merely provisional.

And suitably so, since our lives
Are provisional too--
A foreword, an open door
Leading to another realm.

We are destined for our own revision,
Passing on when this passage ends.


©2012 Michael Fraley




Back to Poem-O-Rama